


I Love the Passing of Time

by Mugatu



Series: Fables of the Reconstruction [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, happiness and fluffiness, the one where I tried to write smut and vomited out a bunch of feelings instead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8190626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mugatu/pseuds/Mugatu
Summary: Paul spent six months working his way past Daryl’s armor and he’s not about to give him the chance to slip it back on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chronologically this takes place immediately after part 1.

Paul is in the infirmary for three days before he’s cleared to move back into the trailer with Daryl. He’s pleased to go, in the trailer he only has Daryl fussing over him instead of half of Hilltop. Doctor Carson ended up needing to impose actual visiting hours to slow down the steady stream in and out of Paul’s room.

On the day he is finally released he needs to enlist both Alex and Maggie to help carry his get well gifts back. They’ve taken over his little corner of the infirmary—bundled up wildflowers in old chipped mugs, homemade cards, a few books, and one battered old teddy bear. The last had been a gift from one of the children; a boy named Willet who Paul had found along with his sister Charlie and led to Hilltop ages ago. It’s all incredibly sweet. It’s all entirely too much.

“Let people fuss over you. You’ve earned it,” Maggie says when he expresses discomfort at all the attention. “You’re as bad as Glenn.”

“Daryl’s doing his best to fuss for the entirety of Hilltop and them some,” Paul replies. Although he can’t complain about _that,_ watching Daryl Dixon _fuss_ is incredibly endearing. He fetches Paul books to read, intimidates the hordes away when Paul’s too tired for visitors, and helps him in and out of bed when he needs it. Not that he needed it much after the first day or so but he still takes full advantage, it’s nice to have excuses to slide his arm around Daryl’s neck and lean against him.

Speak of the Devil, once Maggie and Alex have gathered up all of his gifts Daryl goes and fetches the wheelchair.

“Oh hell no,” Paul says. He can walk just fine.

“Get in the goddamned chair,” Daryl growls at him.

“It’s not necessary—“

“Do what he says, Paul,” Maggie orders. She only calls him “Paul” when she’s pissed off at him.

“Fine, fine,” he mutters. He knows when he’s been beat. Arguing with either one of them by themselves would be a challenge but both of them together is just pointless. Especially when they have Alex as well hanging back but ready to jump in.

Maggie leads the way, Daryl pushing Paul after her and Alex follows behind.

“It’s a parade,” Paul says, “Daryl, we need music. Sing something.”

“Go fuck yourself,” he replies.

It really is a goddamned parade, when people see them they stop and pause to watch and call out encouragement and well wishes to him.

When they reach the trailer Paul tilts his head back so he can look up into Daryl’s face. “Can I walk up the steps, or do you want to carry me over the threshold?"

Daryl’s smile is subtle, but it’s genuine, “Nah. Done hauling your heavy ass around.” He does offer Paul a hand to help him out of the chair, though.

Maggie walks up the steps by his side and follows him into the trailer. It’s a slightly awkward moment, both of them realizing this is the first time she’s been here during the entirety of their friendship. He always comes to her.

Alex and Daryl join them before they can really talk about it, though something about the set of her mouth tells him that the conversation is delayed, not cancelled. Paul smiles ruefully and sinks down onto the couch. Daryl looks at his face and goes to the kitchen to fetch him some water.

“Where do you want us to put these?” Maggie asks, holding up his gifts.

“Bedroom is fine,” Paul says distractedly. Daryl has returned and hands him some water which Paul starts gulping down immediately.

Maggie starts down the narrow hallway, and asks, “Which door is it?”

“Last one,” Alex says, following behind her.

Out of the corner of his eye Paul sees Daryl flinch. Paul frowns up at him and the other man avoids his eyes. Alex said he’d had a talk with him to explain a few things but the idiot Paul has chosen to love is clearly a jealous man. He’s supposes it’s something they’ll have to work on.

“I’m sure we can get some bookshelves for you,” Maggie says when she emerges from the master bedroom and takes a long look at the piles on the floor.

“Nah, I already went to all this trouble getting them in order.”

“They’re a _fire hazard,_ Paul,” she says. Ouch. Two “Pauls” in twenty minutes, she must still be annoyed at him for the whole “running off like an idiot and almost dying” thing.

“I’ll have Daryl look into it,” he says quickly, glancing over at the other man. He gives Paul a “don’t drag me into this” look. Traitor.

“I need to get back to the infirmary,” Alex says, glancing where Daryl is hovering near Paul’s side. Daryl might think he’s being subtle but he’s radiating possessiveness all the same. Alex, bless his heart, doesn’t seem fazed. Before he leaves he hands Daryl a little vial of pills and says, “Make him take at least one of these every six hours if he’s in pain no matter how much he bitches.” Daryl mumbles an affirmative. _Fucking_ traitor.

Maggie gives Paul a kiss on the cheek and leaves as well not long after. Then it’s just him and Daryl alone. Daryl’s radiating awkwardness and discomfort now, and Paul wonders what he can do to fix that. They’ve talked a little while Paul was recovering but times when they were truly alone were rare. But now they’re in their little haven away from the rest of the world. They’re going to _have_ to talk to each other.

“I’m glad to be home,” Paul says eventually.

“Well. I’m glad you’re here,” Daryl replies. His voice is unsteady. “You need anything?”

_You to quit hovering and cuddle up on the couch with me,_ Paul thinks but does not voice.“I missed my books,” is what he says instead, “Do you think you can get one for me? _Gulliver’s Travels_ , it’s in the third pile from the couch.”

Daryl gives him a look, “You are so fuckin’ weird.”

“Ah, you love it.”

“I do, actually,” Daryl says, then turns bright red.

“Oh. Um. Good,” Paul answers. His cheeks feel hot and he’s probably just as red. Daryl may be inexperienced when it came to the physical side of things but Paul is almost as lost when it comes to this part. Daryl’s the first man who’s expressions of love didn’t make Paul want to run screaming.

They stare at each other for a few seconds then Daryl goes to grab Paul’s book. When he hands the it to him their fingers brush against one another and it’s an electric spark. Their eyes meet and they both take in a deep breath at the same time, like two men about to jump into the sea. Paul sets the book aside and tugs Daryl’s hand, pulling him down next to him on the couch. To his surprise before Paul can initiate anything Daryl leans forward and presses their lips together himself and oh, that’s more than a spark. Despite the fact that he’s too tired and hurt to really take this anywhere Paul reaches up and cups the back of Daryl’s head with his palm and starts kissing him more thoroughly. When he’s done he doesn’t move away, just presses their foreheads together and they spend a few moments sharing the same breaths.

“Hey,” Paul says softly.

“Hey,” Daryl answers, then, “I don’t know how this works.”

Paul snorts out a little laugh, “Me neither. We’ll figure it out. I think we’re doing ok so far.”

“This is ok?” Daryl asks, dropping a hand to Paul’s side and lightly brushing his fingers over the bandages underneath Paul’s shirt.

Paul moves his hand away firmly and tangles their fingers together instead, “Yeah. It is. You’re not the one who shot me.”

“I’m the one got you into a place where you could be shot.”

“Best way to make it up to me is not to run off again,” Paul answers.

Daryl says nothing, there is just the steady lull of his breathing. Paul moves his head so it’s resting against Daryl’s shoulder and the other man drapes an arm around him tentatively. They stay like that for a long time.

 

***********************

It’s a lazy day. Paul reads while Daryl putzes around in the trailer making minor repairs. In the evening Daryl leaves to fetch dinner, which they eat together over the kitchen table. After dinner Daryl asks if he wants to play cards.

Paul shifts uncomfortably, “Um. The deck was in my coat pocket. I don’t know what happened to it.” This makes him sadder than it should; it was just a cheap deck he found by chance one day on a supply run. But they’d had so many intense conversations while playing with that deck of cards, Daryl gradually opening up to him over the months. It made Paul think back to his pickpocketing days, when he’d misdirect someone’s attention while he snatched everything he could without them even noticing. That comparison would make him feel bad were it not for the fact that it had been largely uncalculated and Daryl had ended sneaking away with just as much from him.

“Oh,” Daryl says looking just as sad, and Paul wonders if he’s having similar thoughts.

“You can let me kick your ass at chess if you want.”

Daryl’s rolls his eyes, “Don’t you get bored of that?”

“No,” Paul says honestly. Daryl gets annoyed every time no matter how often Paul beats him and it’s fucking delightful. Daryl rarely agrees to play with him and Paul isn’t above taking advantage of his guilt to get him to do it.

Daryl tries to glare at him but the effect is somewhat diminished by the smile tugging at his lips. He gives a little nod and goes to retrieve the chessboard.

****************

Their game lasts longer than most of them usually do. The sun goes down and it gets dark enough that they have to light one of the lanterns. This results in their game stretching out even longer; Paul keeps getting distracted by the way the light accentuates Daryl’s features.

At long last Paul has Daryl in check. He stretches his hand across the board and knocks over the empty salt shaker they use in place of the white King (their board is missing a few pieces and they had to improvise). Daryl snorts and tries not to look irritated.

“I ain’t gonna play you again, so don’t ask,” Daryl mutters.

Paul wasn’t going to ask, his side is starting to ache and despite all the nothing he did today he’s exhausted. He presses his hand to the still healing wound and says, “You’re safe for now. I think I’m going to turn in for the night, actually.”

“Ok,” Daryl says, “Do you need your pills?”

“No, I’m fine,” Paul says quickly. He doesn’t want to waste things that should be used on people with serious pain.

As though he’s read those thoughts Daryl’s eyes narrow and he studies Paul’s face.

Remembering Alex’s instructions Paul gives in. “Maybe half a tablet,” he compromises. Daryl’s shoulders relax and he goes to fetch them.

“What are you going to do?” Paul asks when Daryl returns.

“Um,” Daryl says, then swallows, “I think I’ll read for a bit. Ain’t ready to sleep just yet.”

“Where are you planning on sleeping?” Paul asks.

The question flusters Daryl, he fidgets then says, “My room.”

Paul frowns. Since he got hurt Daryl had only slept with him once, on that first night in the infirmary when he’d been overcome and ill with exhaustion himself. Paul hadn’t pushed, he’d been in a drugged daze most of the time and Daryl was sat in the chair by the bed more often then not no matter when he woke up. But they’re back in their home now and he’s tired but clearheaded and wants to fall asleep next to the man he loves, damnit. “Ok. You don’t have to, but I’d really like it if you slept in my room,” he hesitates, then, “Our room.”

Daryl tenses and doesn’t meet his eyes. Paul waits. He spent six months working his way past Daryl’s armor and he’s not about to give him the chance to slip it back on. They’ve confessed their feelings and Daryl said he wanted to be with him, in the _romantic_ way, so if he doesn’t want to share a bed it’s because he’s still afraid or guilty.

“Don’t want to keep you up,” Daryl says finally, then flicks his eyes to Paul’s side, “Or bump into you and hurt you.” Ah. Guilt it is, then.

“You won’t keep me up,” Paul says, “I was going to read for a bit myself. And I’ll risk a bump.”

Daryl hesitates a moment more, then murmurs, “Let me just grab my book.”

A rush of warmth unfurls in Paul’s chest and he can’t control his smile.

Daryl grabs the lantern and they walk down the hallway together. Paul waits as the other man goes to his room and emerges with a book. Paul glances at the title, it’s _The Grapes of Wrath._ He smiles again, it was one he’d picked for Daryl ages ago. Daryl looks to be about a third of the way through it.

“Enjoying that one?” Paul asks as they make their way into the master bedroom. Daryl sets the lantern down on the nightstand while Paul starts to strip down to his boxers. Daryl doesn’t answer the question and when Paul looks over the other man is staring at him with an expression that makes Paul’s heart clench. He looks like a man who thinks he must be dreaming, like he can’t believe Paul is real.

“Daryl?” Paul asks.

He blinks and says, “Huh? Oh yeah. It’s real good. Thanks for suggestin’ it.”

“My pleasure,” Paul says, turning down the covers and settling in. It really was his pleasure, Daryl doesn’t share Paul’s own love of the written word so whenever he’s able to pick something Daryl likes he feels a warm flush of triumph. Some were easy—he knew _White Fang_ would be a hit, the eponymous character was basically Daryl Dixon in animal form—but others were a little trickier. Paul ended up choosing the _Grapes of Wrath_ because while some people in stressful situations like to read things that will help them escape Daryl strikes him more of a “misery loves company” sort of person.

Daryl hovers by the edge of the bed uncertainly before unbuckling hisbelt and pushing his jeans down. He fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt but much to Paul’s disappointment leaves it on. Then, visibly gathering himself he tugs the covers down and settles on Paul’s left side, a few inches of space between them.

It’s good enough for Paul. He settles down and opens _Gulliver’s Travels_ and starts to read. Beside him Daryl is tense at first, and when Paul glances at him from the corner of his eye he can tell that Daryl’s just staring at the page and not really reading. Paul can’t fault him for that, he himself is having trouble concentrating on the page.

As the minutes tick by he can feel Daryl relaxing a bit at a time. After maybe half an hour Daryl is totally at ease, Paul can hear the sound of him turning the page at regular intervals. He sneaks another glance Daryl; his forehead is wrinkled and his eyes are darting back and forth over the page.

Paul turns his attention back to his book. He doesn’t read for much longer before his eyes start to feel heavy and the words on the page start to blur. He sighs and lays the book on his chest, closing his eyes. He’s only taken half a tablet but he can still feel it. Although it’s not just the pill, Daryl next to him in bed is contributing to his state of dreamy content.

It’s kind of funny in a way. In his life Paul has had more than his fair of sexual encounters but all of them were either friends with benefits or one night stands. He thinks this may be the first time he’s lain in bed next to a man without fucking him first.

He ends up drifting off to this thought, coming to just enough to register Daryl gently taking the book off his chest then pressing a feather light kiss against his temple. Then he’s out again.

*****************

Despite the fact that Paul’s forgiven Daryl he’s not exactly _over_ the memory of waking up to an empty bed and finding out the other man hadn’t just left the room or the trailer but Hilltop al-to-fucking-gether.

Which is why when he’s half asleep and reaches out for Daryl and his hands find only cool sheets he’s catapulted into full wakefulness. The sheets beside him are rumpled but Daryl is gone. He swings his legs out of bed and pushes himself to his feet. Too fast, a stab of pain flairs across his side, making him stumble and he has to grab the nightstand to keep from falling over. He stands there with his free hand pressed against his side breathing slowly, forcing himself to count out each breath while he waits for the pain to pass.

It retreats slowly, and as it does and his mind becomes more alert he registers that the light coming through the windows is bright enough that it’s late in the morning; he’s been asleep for awhile. He hears movement coming from the bathroom and calls out Daryl’s name. He tries to keep his voice even but it’s still high and tight with pain. He sits down carefully on the edge of the bed and starts counting his breaths again.

He hears the creak of the door and looks up; Daryl is there and worry is stamped on every line of his face. He looks freshly showered, his hair is damp and curling around his ears and he’s wearing nothing but a battered pair of jeans hung low on his hips. After one look at Paul he leaves without a word and returns with a glass of water and the little vial of pills Alex pressed on him.

Paul shakes his head, “I’m fine, just stood up too fast.”

“Take a damn pill, Paul. The Doc said it’s easier to prevent pain than get rid of it.”

“Well it’s too late for prevention,” Paul says weakly, then sighs and holds out his hand when he sees Daryl’s unamused scowl. Daryl shakes out a single pill, hesitates, then the remaining half of the tablet Paul took last night. Paul bites back a protest and swallows both. Afterward he pulls his legs back into the bed and stretches out on his back.

Daryl sits down on the edge of the bed and lays a tentative hand on Paul’s cheek. “Hey. Just rest and get better. If you need somethin’ just yell for me, don’t jump up and hurt yourself.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr ‘I’m going to drag my broken leg up a flight of steep stairs regularly’,” Paul says quickly. Daryl hasn’t made the connection that it was his absence itself that upset him and Paul would like to keep it that way.

“That’s different,” Daryl says. His hand is still on Paul’s cheek and he hesitantly moves it into his hair. He’s stiff and a little awkward; he still seems surprised that he can touch Paul whenever he wants to. He cards his fingers through Paul’s hair and starts gently massaging his scalp.

“Mmm. That’s nice,” Paul says, and closes his eyes. Daryl’s fingers combine with the rising warm euphoria of an opiate high and he relaxes against the bed. His earlier worry that Daryl had taken off again is a distant memory.

Daryl’s fingers eventually go still and he withdraws his hand. Paul opens his eyes and studies him. Shirtless Daryl is a nice view, even if he can’t even think about attempting sex. Paul takes a moment to just to drink him in, he saw it all only once before, after all. Daryl’s toned and well-muscled even if he’s not as perfectly sculpted as Alex was, doesn’t have his tectonic plate-sized pectorals or six million abs. This isn’t a criticism, Paul likes that about Daryl. He seems more solid and real.

In a fucked up way he even likes that Daryl is scarred and tattered. Not that Paul likes that too many people have hurt Daryl over the years, he fucking hates _that_. The more he learns about Papa and Merle Dixon the more he wishes they were alive so he could have the satisfaction of beating the shit out of them both. Them and that witch who’d raped him as a kid, the scars she left weren’t visible but they were just as bad. No, Paul doesn’t like that at all. But he does like the visual reminder of the fact that the world’s been throwing its worst shit at Daryl for decades and he’s still _here_. Here, and with his heart and spirit still intact.

Paul shakes himself out of these thoughts. Still looking at Daryl’s bare torso he notices a puckered scar on Daryl’s side. It’s a mirror of Paul’s own wound, at about the same position only on Daryl’s left rather than right side. It’s probably the drugs but Paul still feels like that means something. “Hey, we match,” Paul says then unthinkingly reaches out and caresses it, thumb circling the divot in skin. Daryl’s stomach muscles tense and Paul pulls his hand back. “Sorry,” he says.

Daryl exhales slowly, “It’s. Uh. It’s fine,” he says, a ghost of a smile appearing then vanishing from his face. “I was fixing to go to the kitchens and grab some food, do you need anything first?”

“One thing,” Paul says, smiling a little.

“Yeah?”

Paul taps his fingers against his lips and wiggles his eyebrows for the sheer pleasure of watching Daryl blush. Making Daryl turn red has always been ridiculously easy and is even easier now. Paul supposes he should be bored of it by this point but he’s not even close. He’s beginning to suspect he never will be.

“You’re such a little shit,” Daryl mutters as he braces his hand beside Paul’s head and bends down to kiss him. Paul just sighs happily and slides his arm around Daryl’s neck. They give each other slow, sleepy kisses that melt into one another. Paul sighs again and runs his other hand across Daryl’s chest. He makes a surprised little noise at that and then jerks away.

“Sorry,” Daryl says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat on the edge of the bed. He looks dazed, hair rumpled and skin flushed red all the way from his cheeks down to his neck. His knees are pressed together but Paul can still see the beginnings of an erection tenting the front of his jeans.

“For what?” Paul says, running a hand along Daryl’s leg from his knee to his hip. He might not be up for sex himself but that thigh is warm and firm beneath his hand and Daryl can’t just walk around shirtless looking like that without expecting Paul to do something about it.

“For…” Daryl swallows; Paul is curving his fingers around to his inner thigh, as he watches Daryl’s legs part a little, “Gonna need you to quit doing that,” he says, voice strangled. Paul’s hand freezes and he moves it reluctantly away.

“Sorry,” Paul says, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Daryl blinks at him, “It ain’t that. I mean…I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you more. ‘Sides you look more than halfway stoned.”

“My arm’s fine, I can jerk you off pain free.” He doesn’t really have an answer to the “halfway stoned” bit. He just took the pills and he really doesn’t think he’s reached a point where his own consent is an issue.

Daryl looks a little scandalized and asks, “What about you?

“What about me?”

“I mean,” Daryl swallows audibly, “Don’t you want…”

“You can owe me one,” Paul says. He lays his hand on Daryl’s waist this time, fingers going back to the scar on his side. He looks up at Daryl’s face; he still has that dazed look and is staring at Paul’s hand. He shivers a little then gets to his feet.

“Um,” he says awkwardly, “I just…I don’t…” he doesn’t finish.

“It’s ok,” Paul says quickly, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to push. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

“It’s not,” Daryl looks physically pained, “I just already owe you one, is all.”

Paul looks at him in confusion, “Am I missing something?”

Daryl looks like he wants to die of embarrassment, “Last time. Um. I didn’t do nothing, I just…” he fidgets and bites his thumb.

“You’re kidding, right?” Paul says, then sighs, “No, you aren’t.” He closes his eyes and leans back. He never really thought Daryl would be easy, the guy was all bristling spikes and barbed wire. He may as well have had an “All trespassers will be shot on sight” sign around his neck. Paul’s head is a bit muddled and he’s not sure if he can deal with this properly right now, even though he’s determined to at least _try._ Clear up a few things. One thing for sure is that jerking Daryl off isn’t on the table for today even if he suddenly became amenable to the suggestion. They haven’t really _talked_ to each other about the night they had sex, and Paul realizes that they really need to. “Look,” Paul says patiently, “You don’t owe me a damn thing, ok? Especially not from last time.”

 

“If you say so,” Daryl mutters, not meeting his eyes.

 

“I do say so,” Paul replies firmly, “I thought it was obvious at the time I was enjoying myself. I mean, just the fact you wanted me back was enough.” A bit of an understatement, he’d been over the frigging moon during the entire encounter. No, it wasn’t “perfect”, whatever the fuck that meant. Daryl was inexperienced and it showed but that was ok, Paul hadn’t been expecting any different. Just being there with him was more than he hoped for, by that point he’d convinced himself that Daryl was straight or not into sex period. That it was enough just to be what they were to each other, good friends who obviously cared for each other. Loved each other; or close enough to love in Daryl’s case.

Daryl shifts on his feet and doesn’t answer. His shoulders are hunched up and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than here discussing this.

“Daryl?” Paul asks after a while.

“You got pissed last time I said you could do better.” Daryl says, voice almost inaudible.

Paul studies him, “Nah, I really don’t think I can.”

Daryl finally looks up at him for a moment, eyes mostly hidden beneath his hair, “I just don’t understand why me. Why not someone like…” he doesn’t finish and his eyes drop away again.

“Alex?” Paul says, frustrated. He stares at the ceiling, trying to think of a way to explain it to Daryl so that he _gets_ it. “How many walkers have you killed?” Paul asks him sharply, staring hard at him.

The questions surprises Daryl into making eye contact again. “What?” he asks.

“You’ve never told me. I started to ask you once, but we didn’t finish. So. How many walkers have you killed?”

“No idea.”

“How many people have you killed?” Paul continues.

Daryl just shakes his head, “A lot.”

“ _Why?”_

Daryl goes quiet again. Paul waits, eyes never leaving his face. “I killed Dale,” he stops, clears his throat, “He was the first person I killed. I killed him because he was dying and suffering. The others I killed for the same reasons you did.”

“It was them or you, or your family,” Paul says, “Any just because they had it coming?”

“Yes,” Daryl says, and there’s something hot and angry in his voice.

“Well. That’s why it’s you,” Paul says quietly. There’s more to that thought, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to articulate it. Paul’s still alive because he’s done and seen his fair share of horrible shit; and not just after the world ended. He knows Daryl understands and has dealt with just as bad and worse. But he’s still a guy who will stand by his blinded friend’s side and refuse to let him give up. Still a guy that could pick up a frightened kitten and talk nonsense to it until it relaxed. Still a guy who cried with relief when Paul woke up and said he wanted to be with him. “Plus I like your arms,” he says after awhile, trying for some lightness.

Daryl looks up at him. His eyes and face are still mostly hidden by his hair but his shoulders have relaxed, “Still don’t change the fact I ain’t no good at…” he gestures vaguely.

Paul snorts, “You mean sex? That just means you need practice. Lots. Until you can’t walk. I’ll be happy to help. Or not. Whatever you’re comfortable doing is fine with me.”

Daryl fidgets and what Paul can see of his face plus the back of his neck flushes red again. He drums his fingers against his thigh and says, “That all sounds good to me. That bit, and what you said before.”

Paul smiles, “Good. Now, did you say something about food?”

“I did,” Daryl answers, his lips quirking a bit into a smile, “I need to get on that, cooks will give me hell if I stroll in too late.”

“Well. Better hurry,” Paul says.


	2. Chapter 2

After a few days Daryl can finally be persuaded to leave Paul alone longer than it takes to run to the kitchens for food. In the morning he gets up early, presses a few sleepy kisses against Paul’s mouth, then heads out on a run with Tara. He’s still gone when Paul wakes up properly a few hours later but Paul is unconcerned. He knows Daryl is coming back.

While he waits for him to return Paul stretches out on the couch and reads. He’s only at it for a few hours when he hears the trailer steps creaking followed by a knock on the door and Maggie’s voice calling out, “Jesus? You in there?”

“Yeah! Come on in, it’s open,” he answers, smiling.

Maggie steps inside and sweeps her eyes over the trailer. Daryl has scrounged up a few shelves so some of the books are off the floor. There’s still enough scattered on the floor to be a “fire hazard” so he gets a Look from his friend.

“Hey, we’re working on it,” Paul says, sitting up and scooting over to make room for her on the couch.

She gives him a Look again but doesn’t hassle him about it. “You seem a lot better,” she says, “How’s that doing?” she gestures at his side.

“Healing,” he says, “How’s _that_ doing?” He gestures at her abdomen.

Maggie curls a hand protectively over her belly, “Doctor Carson says things look good.” Despite this she looks scared out of her mind. He takes her hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Hey,” he says, “Control what you can, ok? Take care of yourself, follow the Doc’s orders. Anything else isn’t up to you.”

She smiles a little, “Glenn said something like that when I told him,” she takes a deep breath, “It’s easier said than done.”

“You’re a tough lady, Ms Greene. I have faith in you.” He’s not bullshitting her; she’s one of the strongest people he’s ever met. Strong enough to bulldoze her way past Paul’s defenses even while dealing with a mountain of her own shit. She refused to let him hold her at arm’s length and he was grateful for that.

“Thanks,” she says, and when she smiles it looks genuine, even if her eyes are bright. They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes before she gives herself a shake and asks, “So how are things with you and Daryl?”

“Good,” Paul says, smiling helplessly, “Really good. Not very exciting, but good. And by ‘excitement’ I mean sex. I’m still to sore for it.”

Maggie makes a face, “He’s like my brother or something. Don’t need any ‘exciting’ details.”

“I feel like I should say I’ve been forced to listen to _your_ exciting details about Glenn but he’s hot and there’s no incestuous overtones. Don’t tell Daryl I said that.”

Maggie grins, “Your secret is safe with me,” her face gets serious, “I’m happy for you, you know. Glad he came around.”

“Me too,” Paul says, “And I’m happy for you.”

“Listen to us,” Maggie says, one side of her mouth quirking, “I feel like I should knock on wood or something.”

“No, I forbid it,” Paul says, “We’re allowed some wins every now and then without worrying about tempting fate.”

“If you say so,” Maggie answers. They’re quiet for a minute before he asks how the solar panels have been holding up. She gives him a brief update-so far, so good. From there they move on to other business. He may not be able to go on runs or out scouting for awhile but he can at least serve as a sounding board.

He uses it as a chance to study her. She somehow looks both terrified yet still happier than he’s seen her in a long while. He knows the fact that her relationship with Glenn is on steady ground again has a lot to do with it.

It’s late in the afternoon when she takes her leave of him, admonishing him to take care of himself. She’s gone for less than half an hour when Daryl comes home. He’s dirty and sweaty and looks sexier than he has any right to in either state.

Paul gets up to give him a kiss, rolling his eyes at Daryl’s “I’m a mess, wait.” It’s a half hearted protest; when Paul tilts his face up Daryl bends down to kiss him eagerly. Paul had only meant to give him a quick “hello” kiss but they end up tangled up around each other for several long minutes. He can feel Daryl’s fingers brushing against the small of his back, sliding under the hem of his shirt just slightly. They make out and grope each other until they reach a point where they need to either stop or take this up a level.

Reluctantly Paul untangles himself and takes a step back. Daryl stands there looking dazed and breathing hard. “You just missed Maggie,” Paul blurts out, for lack of anything better to say.

Daryl shakes his himself, “Nah, ran into her on my way here. Told her a bit about the run.”

“Oh. Um. How’d that go?”

“Fine. Got somethin’ for you.” He digs into his pocket and proudly produces a deck of cards.

Paul’s chest floods with warmth. “You are the best boyfriend to exist in the world, ever,” Paul says as he takes the cards from his hand. He opens the pack and slides the cards out. When he gets a good look at them he bursts out laughing, “Well, maybe I overshot that by just a bit.”

Daryl is trying not to smile and failing. It’s a good look on him. “Don’t be an asshole, they’re the only ones I could find. Better than nothin’.” The cards are the sort that feature nude ladies and not of the classy variety. They’re a blur of fake orange tans, probably fake boobs (Paul isn’t exactly an expert), legs open and labias spread wide. Paul flips through the deck with morbid fascination. He may be gay but most of the time he can appreciate the female figure on an _aesthetic_ level. Not in this case however, there’s something grotesque about the way the women are posed. The straights are a trip.

“I’m gonna get cleaned up,” Daryl says, “After we eat we can play a few hands of gin if you promise not to cheat.”

“If you can promise not to be such a sore loser.”

Daryl flips him off before heading to the bathroom.

 

*****************

 

After that first night and their _talk_ Paul no longer has to invite Daryl into bed, he comes on his own. Tonight they read until they mutually agree they’re done and Daryl extinguishes the lantern. Even after that neither one feels like sleeping so they end up curled on their sides facing each other and talking quietly. They’re close enough that Paul can reach out and touch him whenever he feels like it (which is often). Daryl is still a little flustered by casual physical contact but he never asks Paul to stop. Sometimes he will even initiate it himself, looking surprised that he can almost every time.

Their conversation drifts from one topic to another. Paul is sick of being cooped up and demands updates on all the various residents of Hilltop. “I keep getting shovel talks from folks,” Daryl grumbles. He’s stroking Paul’s wrist as he talks, tracing the bones of his hand.

Paul snorts, “If I can deal with Carol threatening to feed me to the tiger you can deal with that. There’s actually a chance she’ll go through with it.”

“Nah, she likes you,” Daryl replies, looking fond. “She told me so, when she was here.”

“I’m not gonna assume that makes me safe,” Paul replies, although he’s pleased that she said so. He likes Carol too; just for herself as well as for how much she means to Daryl. Having her blessing is a good feeling.

“She said Ezekiel asked her to marry him,” Daryl says meditatively.

Paul tries to look surprised. “Oh?”

“Your poker face is shit,” Daryl mutters.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Paul says which makes Daryl roll his eyes. Ezekiel had told him he’d planning on it the last time Paul was at the Kingdom. He’d been uncharacteristically nervous, fishing around for what Paul thought Daryl’s reaction would be.

“What’s she going to say?” Paul asks. He likes Ezekiel and the Kingdom; and he likes Carol there to help out. One person can’t run a community these days, you need a partner. Backup. Maggie’s got Glenn, Rick’s got Michonne, and Carol is a good fit for Ezekiel, balances him out.

“I dunno. Yes, I think. You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?” Paul asks.

“Your…” Daryl pauses, “Your hippy kumbayah face.”

“I think the word your looking for is ‘happy’.”

Daryl shakes his head, “No, that ain’t it. You look like everything’s right with the world and going according to plan.”

“That’s a lot of specifics you’re getting from one look.”

“You’re easy to read.”

Paul gives his arm a pinch, “Then why’d it take you so long to figure out I was interested in you for real?”

Daryl pinches him back, “‘Cuz you hid it under a mountain of fuckery. And I seen you with other people, you’re nice to everybody.”

Paul snorts and puts a hand on Daryl’s waist and strokes his foot up and down Daryl’s leg. The other man closes his eyes and shivers, “So I’m easy to read, but too nice, but fucked with you too much.”

“Somethin’ like that,” Daryl says, voice hoarse.

“You realize that makes no sense,” Paul says, voice light and teasing.

“Nothin’ about you makes sense. Can’t believe you’re a real person sometimes.”

Paul can’t think of a smart answer to that, it’s delivered with too much sincerity. If he can fluster Daryl easily with a touch then Daryl can pay him back by simply telling him how he feels bluntly and sans bullshit. All he can do is stammer out a “thanks.” He’s still not used to this, is still caught off guard.

He remembers when he first laid eyes on Rick and Daryl that day by the abandoned gas station. Both of them looked like thousands of pages’ worth of bad news; he had to watch them for a long time before he decided they weren’t part of the Saviors. They definitely _looked_ like they would fit in with that group.

He’d only changed his mind on the ride back to Alexandria. He’d come to and overheard enough of the conversation to know they weren’t bad people. Dangerous people, yes, but not bad.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget sitting on the steps waiting for Rick and Michonne to get dressed, Carl holding him at gun point (good lord that boy was his father’s son) when the rest of the group charged in guns a-blazing. Daryl stood on the steps giving him a death glare and Paul smirked at him, thinking, _He’s actually kinda hot. Amazing arms._

It grew from there. Daryl was a challenge to his gaydar, sometimes the other man would glare at him and Paul couldn’t tell if it was an “I want to beat the shit out of you” look or an “I want to fuck your brains out” look. Or a mix of the two for some extra excitement. Any which way it was it made fucking with him endlessly amusing. He was easy to rile up and fluster, and during those grim days of fighting Paul needed a reliable source of fun to look forward to.

He’s not exactly sure when that started change, something that throws him a little. Paul’s introspective and very _aware_ of his own issues even if he hasn’t alway dealt with them in the healthiest of ways. But falling in love with Daryl had somehow happened without him realizing it until it was too late and he was gone for the other man, probably for the rest of his life. It only got worse during his stay at Hilltop and seeing just how _caring_ Daryl was beneath that rough exterior.

Maybe it was Maggie’s fault; he’d opened the door for her and forgot to lock it back up. At any rate he’s grateful for the twists of fate that brought this man into his life.

 

************

 

It’s not many days after Maggie’s visit when Daryl comes home in the afternoon covered in grease and sweat. Paul wrinkles his nose when Daryl gives him a quick kiss but he doesn’t pull away.

“Were you able to fix the Rover?” Paul asks himwhen they’re done. The SUV had gotten damaged during the fight at the airport and had conked out during the last run to Alexandria. Thankfully it had been close enough they were able to haul it back to Hilltop and Daryl had been tinkering with it for the last two days.

“Fuck if I know,” Daryl says, “It’ll be a pain in the ass if we have to find another vehicle big enough to haul shit around. I’m starving, is there anything to eat?”

“There should be some energy bars in the cupboards to hold you over until dinner time.”

Daryl grumbles at that, “Things taste like shit. Were you able to get out today?”

“Yeah, I went to help Maggie with the crop report. Saw Doctor Carson after.”

“How did that go?” Daryl asks as he rummages through the cupboards.

“Went great. Still wants me to take it easy, not go out on runs and the like. But I asked specifically and he said we can have sex now, so long as it’s nothing too athletic.”

“Mmm. That sounds g—“ Daryl trails off and goes completely still. Paul watches as his words register and tries not to laugh. Daryl turns to him and can’t quite make eye contact. He’s blushing furiously and fidgeting and it’s fucking adorable.

“If you’re interested in that sort of thing,” Paul says. He _knows_ he shouldn’t tease Daryl but can’t help himself.

“Oh,” Daryl says, and swallows hard, “Yeah, I’m interested.”

“Good. Do you want to eat first?”

Daryl finally meets his eye, “You mean…right now?”

“Yeah, if you’re up for it. Well, after you shower.”

Daryl nods and doesn’t move, his eyes flicking all over Paul’s body. His face is glowing and tension is written over every line of his frame. Paul takes pity on him and says, “I need one too, if you want to save time you can join me.” Then he deliberately grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. Daryl’s eyes are wide and his lips are parted. Paul smiles at him, then turns around and heads for the bathroom, looking over his shoulder when he reaches to door.

Daryl is still standing there gawping at him. When their eyes meet he unfreezes and walks a bit unsteadily after him. Paul’s lips curve into a smile.

The trailer’s bathroom is small, just big enough to fit the toilet, sink, and shower stall. Paul fiddles a bit with his water heater. It takes a few minutes for it to warm up; so he lets the shower run while he turns his attention to Daryl. The other man looks equal parts excited and terrified, his breathing fast and sweat already glistening on his forehead.

Paul’s hit with the memory of the last night they slept together. He’d settled into bed to read, leaving his door open on the _hope_ that Daryl would come take him up on his offer but not really expecting it. Paul remembers thinking his friend may have been giving him _looks_ all evening as a result of Dutch courage but that could just be wishful thinking. Then he heard the creak of the steps, the door opening, and Daryl stepped into his room not long after looking exactly like he does now.

“What’re you smiling ‘bout?” Daryl says, voice low and rough in a way that goes straight to Paul’s dick.

“You,” Paul answers honestly. He swallows and says, “People tend to take their clothes off to shower, by the way.”

Daryl looks flustered, “You still have some of yours on,” he answers.

In response Paul undoes the snaps on his jeans and lets them fall to the floor. He steps out of them before pushing his briefs down and off. He stands naked without a trace of self-consciousness and just enjoys the way Daryl stares. Paul can see his Adam’s apple ripple in his throat as he swallows hard.

Daryl’s hands shake a little as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. Paul almost offers to do it for him but decides he’d rather watch. The shirt slides off. Paul is vaguely aware that the room is starting to steam up, the hot water must have kicked in. As Paul watches Daryl hesitates then unbuckles his belt and undoes his flies. He stops yet again, looking at Paul nervously from underneath his fringe of hair. Whatever he sees must reassure him because his jeans and underwear join his shirt on the floor.Paul lets out an involuntary noise of appreciation. He’s not used to seeing this much of Daryl all at the same time so he spends a few seconds letting his eyes crawl all over those broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs, and half hard dick. Paul wets his lips then makes himself look away, slide open the shower door and stick in a hand to test the water. It’s hot but not scalding, perfect temperature.

He steps in and leaves the door open for Daryl. The other man pauses awkwardly, his face red from the heat and embarrassment. He seems unsure where to position himself-in front of Paul, behind him, facing him or turning away.

Paul smiles at him and reaches out for his hand. Tugs him inside and positions him to his liking. Which is right in front of him, face-to-face. The shower is very small, the two of them can barely fit and when they move they brush up against each other in delightful little electric ways.

“I’m almost out of soap,” Paul says, reaching out and grabbing a bar from the dish then sudsing himself up. He does it without any affectation, just does it the same as he would if he were alone in the shower.

Daryl just grunts distractedly. His wet hair is in hiding his face but Paul can still tell just how hard he’s staring. A quick glance down tells him that Daryl definitely likes what he’s seeing.

When Paul is clean to his own satisfaction he turns his attention to Daryl. The other man jumps when Paul puts his soapy hands on his chest.“This ok?” Paul asks, looking at his face.

Daryl gives a jerky nod. Paul smiles, and gets to work, rubbing his hands over Daryl’s chest and stomach, working up a nice lather. Every single muscle beneath his hands is rock hard and quivering with tension. Daryl jumps again when Paul reaches down and soaps up his dick with a few quick strokes of his hand before he moves on, just a tease.

Paul steps closer, crowding up against him until he has Daryl pressed up against the far wall of the shower. He can feel Daryl’s arms slide around him, hands shaking. He makes a pained noise and crashes his mouth against Paul’s desperately. He’s fully hard now and thrusts against Paul’s stomach again and again. 

Paul abruptly breaks away then steps back to twist the water off. Daryl blinks at him, mouth opened and panting like he just ran a race.

“We’re clean enough now, don’t you think?” Paul says. He’s a little out of breath himself, part of him wants to just stay in here and finish but he wants to draw this out a little longer. The last time they had sex was good but over too quickly. He blames himself, he’s more experienced and should have shown some restraint instead of just jumping on Daryl’s dick first chance he got.

Besides, he’s not about to waste his hot water.

Paul slides the shower door open and steps out, water dripping off him. When he’s sure that Daryl is looking he bends down to gather up the towels and is rewarded with the sound of Daryl’s sharp gasp.

They dry off in only the most perfunctory of manners, Daryl seems to have forgotten how his hands work and can’t take his eyes off Paul. Truth be told Paul isn’t doing much better, Daryl all flush and wet from the shower is doing things to him. Ok, no more fucking around. He grabs Daryl’s hand and wordlessly drags him out of the bathroom and down the hall to their bedroom, not stopping until they’ve reached the bed. He puts is hands on top of Daryl’s shoulders and pushes, sitting him down on the edge of the mattress.

He pushes Daryl’s knees apart and steps between his spread legs, takes his face into his hands, tilts it up then bends down to kiss him. He can feel Daryl’s hands on him, cautiously touching his thighs before growing more confident, sliding up and grabbing his ass and squeezing. Daryl’s hands are big and strong and the pads of his fingers are rough and calloused. Paul moans into his mouth before pulling away. Daryl makes a noise in protest that turns into a moan when Paul slides down to his knees, dragging his open mouth over Daryl’s torso.

He looks up and meets Daryl’s eyes, he’s staring down at Paul in that way of his, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Paul gives him a little smile and runs his hands up and down Daryl’s thighs, enjoy the rough feel of his hair. He pushes Daryl’s legs apart even farther and bends down to press wet, sucking kisses up his inner thighs, rubbing his beard against the delicate skin at the same time. Daryl has gone completely rigid, muscles quivering with tension beneath Paul’s hands and panting up above him, breath coming out in little whimpers. He _keens_ when Paul bypasses his dick and digs his teeth into his hipbone, then again when Paul runs his tongue over his stomach. Paul pulls back and Daryl grabs convulsively at the sheets of the bed.

“This ok?” Paul asks.

Daryl stares at him, “Yes, yes it’s fucking ok! Paul, _please.”_

Ok, that was hot as fuck. Part of him wants to make Daryl beg more but he finds he’s every bit as impatient. So he gets down to business. He licks a long, wet stripe over Daryl’s dick from the base to the tip. Above him Daryl’s heavy breathing stops as he holds his breath. Paul looks up into his face as he he runs he delicately traces the head with the tip of his tongue. Daryl’s eyes squeeze shut and he arches his neck, head falling back. Paul does it again, this time Daryl drums his heels against the floor and buries the fingers of both hands in Paul’s hair. It sends a shiver down Paul’s spine and he grabs Daryl’s dick in a tight fist and finally takes him all the way into his mouth.

Above him Daryl is groaning out nonsense and Paul revels in the noises he makes and the way he tastes. Fuck, he missed doing this. And doing this to _Daryl_ is hotter than many of his frantic imaginings have been. Whether it’s inexperience or just how he’s built Daryl is incredibly responsive. Broody, quiet, gruff Daryl Dixon is a writhing, cursing, out of control _mess_ that Paul can control with a flick of his tongue. The noises he makes go straight to the head of Paul’s own dick, a needle sharp stab of arousal.

He looks up at Daryl’s face at one point, the other man is curled over him, eyes squeezed shut and groaning out nonsense. He senses Paul’s stare he opens his eyes. Paul maintains eye contact for several beats, then grabs Daryl’s hips, relaxes his throat and dives down.

Daryl lets out a strangled, “ _God!”_ Paul feels a warm flush of smugness and purrs low in this throat. Daryl practically convulses at that, it takes all of Paul’s strength to hold down his hips. He does it again and the noise Daryl makes doesn’t even bear a passing resemblance to an actual word.

Daryl doesn’t last long after that, before too long he makes a groan that sounds dragged out from some deep part of his chest and he’s coming in Paul’s mouth, hard. Paul holds him in his mouth until he’s finished then after a second’s hesitation swallows it down.

Paul lifts his head up to study his handiwork. Daryl has collapsed back on his elbows, mouth open and gasping. His legs are shaking and he’s flush and sweaty and looks completely _wrecked_.

Paul whimpers and flings himself on him, all thoughts of drawing this out vanishing. He kisses Daryl’s slack lips again and again before burying his face in his neck. He starts thrusting his hips against Daryl’s sweat-slicked stomach, overcome with excitement.

He’s well on his way to getting there when Daryl comes to life beneath him and without warning clamps his hands down on his hips, holding him in place.

“Wait, stop,” he gasps out.

Paul does, although it takes all of his self control. A deep, full body shudder passes through him and it takes a second to pull himself together enough to choke out, “What’s wrong?”

“I just,” Daryl says, wiping his hand across his face, “I want…”

“I promise I’ll do whatever it is, just tell me,” Paul realizes he’s rapidly losing control of this encounter but he’s past caring. He’s at that point where it’s starting to get painful and his _need_ to get off is clouding out his ability to think.

“Ok,” Daryl says, sounding self-conscious, “I want to jerk you off. Can I?”

Paul gapes at him then says, “Yes! Yes, yes you can do that.” Then when Daryl hesitates he grabs one of his hands and places it on his crotch.

Daryl jumps a little in surprise, but recovers enough to give him a caress. Paul grinds into his palm impatiently and Daryl snorts out a laugh. Before Paul can ask what the fuck is funny Daryl is pushing up, shifting his weight and rolling them over so that Paul is on his back and Daryl is leaning over him propped up on one elbow. He’s staring at Paul with an intensity that makes his toes curl. He wraps his fingers around Paul’s dick and starts moving his hand up and down _agonizingly_ slow.

Paul groans and plants his feet against the mattress for leverage and starts thrusting up into Daryl’s fist. The other man draws in a sharp breath and tightens his grip. “You can dish that teasing shit out but you sure can’t take it,” Daryl says, his voice low and gravelly and unfairly sexy as he keeps jerking Paul in slow, steady pulls.

“You’re being awfully mean to someone who just sucked your dick,” Paul pants. Daryl leans down to kisses him, his hair falling into Paul’s face. While Paul clumsily strokes Daryl’s stomach and chest Daryl pulls back and gives him that laser intense stare again. His eyes sweep up down the length of Paul’s body and stop at his dick. Unlike Daryl he’s uncut and the other man seems _fascinated_ by his foreskin, sliding it up and down over the head with his thumb. Paul shudders and gropes his hands above his head so he can clutch at the headboard, arching his back off the bed.

Daryl draws in another sharp breath and finally speeds up his hand.

“Faster,” Paul moans, “Like that, that’s good, keep…” the rest is lost in a wordless moan. He’s hurtling towards an orgasm, his mind blanking out everything that isn’t Daryl’s hand on his dick or his body pressed against Paul’s own. Daryl leans down again and Paul feels histeeth in his neck, the scrape of his stubble and that’s enough to push him over the edge. Daryl strokes him through it, pulling away onto his elbow again.

When Paul’s finished he collapses back against the mattress, eyes closed and lips parted. Fuck, it had just been a handjob but it had wiped him out. He really was still recovering, when he was back to a hundred percent they were going to sets the sheets on fire—

“I could watch you do that a thousand times,” Daryl blurts out, interrupting this train of thought.

Paul lets out a giddy laugh. When he opens his eyes he sees Daryl has gone back to looking shy. “Well. I won’t stop you,” he says, smiling helplessly, “Gonna need to let me rest a bit before the next time.”

*******************

Paul makes Daryl come out with him for a communal dinner a week later.

“Why?” Daryl says petulantly when Paul makes his request then tugs him back into bed. He wraps himself around Paul like an octopus and starts biting at his neck and shoulders.

“Because I want to take you out on a date,” Paul says, gasping a little at the feel of Daryl’s teeth.

“That ain’t a date and anyways staying in is better,” Daryl mumbles into Paul’s shoulder. Before Paul can answer Daryl’s mouth is covering his own and swallowing up any words he tries to form. He makes a persuasive argument but Paul is adamant. He’s barely been out this week. It’s been an _awesome_ week, they’ve fucked every day, only leaving the trailer when absolutely necessary. Paul is still supposed to be taking it easy and Maggie has been indulgent with giving Daryl breaks in his chores so “absolutely necessary” is a rare occurrence.

Paul is able to pull away enough in between kisses to say, “We’ll get less visitors if people get a chance to talk to me outside.”

“Mmmmm,” Daryl grumbles and buries his face into Paul’s neck, “Fine.”

It’s a beautiful evening, they’re well into spring and the night is pleasantly warm. The white fairy lights they put up to celebrate the installation of the solar panels have been left up and give the place an aura of cheer. Despite his grumblings about how eating at the house isn’t a date Daryl has actually dressed up a bit in a faded but clean and well-fitting button up. He looks good, and Paul brushes their shoulders together affectionately as they walk across the grounds.

Paul doesn’t get _mobbed_ exactly but he’s still surrounded by people the moment he’s spotted. Daryl hovers off to the side, giving Paul a chance to mingle. Miraculously he doesn’t look uncomfortable; whenever Paul glances over at him Daryl’s just staring at him with a hint of a smile on his lips.

When he’s able to pull away they find a seat next to Maggie and Glenn at the dinner table. She gives them both a look and grins. “Hi Daryl,” she says, “You’re looking a little different tonight.”

“Huh?” Daryl says.

“He does?” Glenn deadpans, “Describe him to me. Loudly. In great detail.”

“He looks _relaxed,”_ Maggie continues, eyes glinting.

Daryl turns brick red as he realizes where this is going.

“Really?” Glenn says, still deadpan, “How strange.”

“He’s got all these bruises on his neck. Like someone tried to take a bite out of him.”

“Oh no. Could be walkers.”

“Could be. Looks like they got a hold of Jesus too.”

“Fuck both of y’all,” Daryl mumbles.

“Despite those words he is smiling,” Maggie informs her husband.

They rib on him for a bit more, Daryl squirming with embarrassment but still unable to keep that sated expression off his face. Paul finally gives Maggie a kick under the table and tells her to be nice. She makes a zipping-up gesture over her lips and changes the subject. Still every now and again when she catches Daryl or Paul’s eyes her eyebrows go up and the corners of her lips curl into a little smile. Paul gives her an identical look, she and Glenn are giving off a distinct “get a room” vibe themselves as the evening wears on.

Again Paul has to marvel at all that’s happened to lead him here, to eating with friends on a warm spring evening curled up next to a good man he loves and loves him back. The world may have ended but there’s a lot to be grateful for.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I went extra happy and fluffy because I've been dreading tonight's premiere for months.


End file.
